Babbity Git
by Pokeystar
Summary: Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Sometimes, getting away from it all means there's nowhere to go when it all comes to you.
1. Part One

**Disclaimer notice:**

The author wishes to make it known that s/he doesn't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, settings, objects, etc. associated with ol' scarhead. Furthermore, s/he'd like to state for the record, that s/he wouldn't want to be—in any way, shape or form—responsible for that infantile epilogue. Though owning Lucius might be nice. However, s/he knows this is a pipedream, as Lucius belongs to Shiv. Also, the author categorically denies any intent on her/his part to resemble any other work of fan fiction in existence, but s/he realizes that s/he is a whorish clichéd hack, and as such, the odds are against her/him. Any resemblance to published works of Popular Culture is fully intended (see; hack) and is properly cited in the author's notes following the story. S/he would lastly like to state that s/he is most particularly sorry s/he is so abysmally, unforgivably late. S/he promises never to hire typing monkeys again; even if they have big brown eyes and hold up signs saying "will work for bananas." They are clearly better suited to picking gnats or flinging excrement.

**Babbity Git, Part One**

**~Prelude~**

Severus flexed the slits on either side of his throat in concert with his webbed feet and propelled himself across the murky lake with a silky whoosh. Eddies of water billowed in his wake as he glided through the shadowy depths.

A hypnotic silvery voice lilted out a giggle as he caught a glimpse of glittery green scales and long flame-like hair just ahead. He kicked out again and his reaching fingers brushed against a diaphanous fin. He chuckled with predatory fervour as the fin jumped slightly and then shivered in delight. He swooped suddenly and caught his Piscean nymph by the waist and murmured, "Tag, you're it," in her perfect shell-like ear.

But she wasn't laughing anymore. She turned to face him, concern filling her bright green eyes and said, "Breathe, Snape! Dammit, wake up and breathe!"

This directive confused Severus. He didn't need to breathe. The gillyweed he had consumed was a super-strength potion-enhanced strain guaranteed to last four hours, and he had only been dreaming of swimming in the lake for a half an hour at the most.

_Dreaming?_

Mermaid Lily slipped out of his embrace and vanished into the turbid depths as the voices outside Snape's dream state penetrated the illusion and tore it to shreds like a hippogriff with a tasty ferret.

_Damn. Just when he was about to give her one._

**~Rules of the Game~**

"—I still say we're bringing him out of stasis too early, Potter."

That Slytherinesque drawl was music to Snape's semi-conscious ears.

"Unfortunately, we don't have a choice, Zabini. The diagnostic scans show he has his full magic back and is completely healed—" Potter sounded almost… apologetic.

"Physically! The scans still show emotional and psychological scarring—"

"No one believes the headmaster deserves a better life and full health more than me."

"Former," Zabini muttered. Potter ignored him.

"But this is _Snape_ we're talking about. He's been under almost five years already. Full emotional and psychological health could take another decade at least."

_Ungrateful, insolent, callow, half-witted, egotistical dunderhead._

"You have a point," Zabini conceded.

_Three hundred points from Slytherin for disloyalty, Mr Zabini._

"Besides," a new voice piped up, confusing Snape. It sounded familiar somehow, yet different. "He's the only one we can spare or trust—"

His semi-conscious mind chased itself in circles, like a Crup puppy spotting its forked tail for the first time—familiar, different, familiar, different—until it gave up on him and decided to take a kip.

_Maybe the ever-lovely mermaid Lily would visit him again…_

The first thing Snape did upon regaining full consciousness was to demand various key morsels of information from Blaise Zabini, a far more forthcoming nurse than Poppy Pomfrey. Of course, it helped that Zabini had been Snape's covert informant since he was a Firstie barely out of knee-britches.

The second thing Snape did was to tell the tiny speck of hopeful romanticism still residing in his soul, "I told you so!" His not-so-inner bitter cynic was immensely smug when he realised that Dumbledore, not satisfied with sixteen years of guilt-ridden, pain-filled, and mind-numbingly boring (that was the teaching bit) service, had—by asking Snape to kill him—set him up to die for his sins. For a scrap of black wood wrapped in power, glory and legend, no less. The irony caused Snape to grimace in dark humour. Zabini, observing him quietly, mistook that grimace for a pain response and upped the dosage on the Dreamless Sleep and the Relief Draught accordingly.

When Snape next woke, he noted the complete absence of hopeful romanticism from his soul. He decided to celebrate his descent into fully depressed cynical bitterness—with just a _smidge _of hope_less_ romanticism; there was still the aquatic ghost of Lily to deal with—by presenting the Chosen One with a list of his demands.

He was very much surprised, though he hid it well behind a contemptuous sneer, when Potter immediately agreed to the entire list. Before adding a caveat of his own. And the insolent whelp dared to twinkle at him whilst doing so!

_Bugger._

"The thing is, Snape, your Dark Lord isn't _quite _all gone, yet."

If Potter offered him a lemon sherbet, he'd shove it up his bloody arse. Without magic.

"Mr Zabini told me you killed him. And he is not _my_ Dark Lord anymore." He would not be guilt-bound to this half-arsed protégé pretender. He'd done enough.

"Well… That isn't the complete truth either. Turns out, by Summoning Dumbledore's wand, Draco controlled it. When I took Draco's wand off him, I controlled it. So when Riddle tried to use the Elder wand on me, the magic backfired. He killed himself, really. Twice, if you count the forest. Not so quick on the uptake, was he?" The twinkling achieved mirth-filled vibrancy.

_His near-death had saved Draco, then. It was a fair cop. _

That didn't stop Snape from grinding his teeth; he could sense the other shoe was about to drop.

"Turns out ol' Voldie had another Horcrux up his sleeve." Potter wasn't twinkling anymore.

_Buggity bugger._

The voice that had confused Snape earlier spoke again, increasing in volume as it moved from the doorway to Snape's bedside.

"We've pinpointed the location of the last Horcrux, and thank Merlin, the remaining Death Eaters have not. Yet. Which is why you have been revived, Headmaster," said Neville Longbottom as he came into view. "We need you to guard it against discovery."

Longbottom met his former boggart's eyes with quiet confidence. His innate magic was almost a physical presence in the small makeshift sickroom, and Snape was vividly reminded of Neville's father, Frank.

"Why me in particular?" he enquired neutrally.

"Because the enemy thinks you are dead," replied Longbottom. "The Death Eaters and their allies have become quite active again. Everyone on our side has been busy counteracting that activity."

Neville declined to spell it out, but Snape didn't need reminding what activity his former mates were up to. Been there, done that. Had the ink stain to prove it.

"We are very certain they are aware of Riddle's ace in the hole, as it were. Intercepted communications indicate they have started searching for it. If they happen to find it, we'll need you there to keep them from taking it. A resurrection would be inconvenient, to say the least."

Harry chuckled darkly, which caused Neville to raise a sardonic eyebrow in reply. Snape repressed a shudder, feeling as if a goose had walked over his grave.

"We don't anticipate them locating it, seeing as it is stashed in a somewhat remote locale. You'll probably end up rather bored. Think of this as a vacation, if you will."

Snape's curled lip was condescendingly scathing. He'd heard a variation of this song and dance before, too. "_If_ they find it, Mr Longbottom? How did you come to know about this Horcrux and its location?"

"I inherited Dumbledore's Pensieve," said Harry. "After the battle at Hogwarts, I was looking for answers. Neither Riddle nor Albus were very forthcoming, were they?"

Harry and Snape shared a brief look of mutual disgust for their former "masters."

"During the rebuilding process, I came across a room full of chamber pots, and I found a box of bottled memories there. One of the memories showed Riddle having tea with Hepzibah Smith. She had acquired Godric Gryffindor's mace and wanted it authenticated. As an employee of Borgin and Burkes', Riddle was well-qualified to do so. In fact, he had done so for Madam Smith in the past. He also killed her and stole all the Founder artefacts she had collected. He made Horcruxes of the rest as well, which we destroyed, so I was sure he'd made a Horcrux of the mace, too."

Harry stopped his explanation when Colin Creevey entered the room and handed him a roll of parchment. He muttered a decoding spell, broke the wax seal and scanned its contents.

"Ron says the mission is a go," he stated, first looking at Neville and then Snape as Creevey handed him a sealed wooden box.

"Colin here is your main point of contact, Snape. His code name is Hopping Pot. Neville is Sir Luckless, Ron is Sabre, Zabini is Altheda, I am the Third Brother, and you are Babbity Rabbity. Base code name is Stump." He waved his hand over the box, opening it. "Memorise the codes. The Death Eaters might know about the underground frequencies."

He showed Snape the contents of the box, pointing to each item with his wand. "Miniaturised supplies, including the books and firewhisky you required." Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry continued, "Yes, Ogden's Old Special Reserve."

Harry held up a thin metal disc strung on a long piece of supple black leather. "This is a glamour amulet, which you will wear at all times, in case of a skirmish with a Death Eater who might escape."

It appeared to be an ordinary St. Anthony's medal.

"You'll have all the peace and solitude you asked for," Harry said as he tapped a small seashell. "This is your Portkey, Headmaster. It leaves in two minutes." Harry dropped it into Snape's hand.

Snape fiddled with the shell. "I haven't agreed yet, Potter. Your code is transparent and juvenile. Do you have a contingency plan? What is the catch?"

"Riddle put up extensive wards around the Horcrux. Those wards allow for the innate magic of two full wizards on the island," Harry explained. "You can do small magic up to the equivalent of the second wizard, but do so sparingly. We may need to Portkey in occasionally, yeah? Those wards are nasty. You wouldn't like to find out just how nasty the hard way. You'll need to do almost everything the Muggle way. No catch."

Snape rolled his eyes and tossed Potter the Portkey. Or tried to. It seemed to be stuck to his hand. Potter handed him the re-sealed supply box, which Snape accepted automatically with his empty hand, while still trying to shake the shell off.

"Bon voyage, professor." Harry twinkled as he waved cheerfully at a glowering Snape. "As you cannot use Magical forms of communication, there is a pedal radio on the island. We'll be in touch shortly."

"Island? Where the fuck am I going, Potter? You'd better hope those Death Eaters get to me first, Potter. Because if I get to you, _Crucio_ will seem like a slap and a tickle!" He was just working up to a good bollicking when Snape felt a strong tug behind his navel. "You utterly gormless gobshite!" he ranted as he whirled out of sight.

"That went really well, don't you think?" Harry commented mildly as he turned to Colin and Neville.

Neville shrugged and quirked a grin. "About as well as we expected it to."

"Does Snape know how to operate a communication radio?" Colin asked in puzzlement.

"He will soon enough. I charmed the bit with the talking manual to expand first no matter which thing he chooses to un-shrink," Harry replied, unconcerned.

"And the liquid peace offering included with the manual?" Neville enquired with amusement.

Harry smirked as they left the medical room. "Couldn't hurt to calm him down a titch."

**~Home Sweet Home~**

Severus landed with a bone-jarring crunch on hard rock and abruptly fell to his knees, barely managing to set down the supply box before ejecting the meager contents of his stomach onto the slimy gray-green moss that covered the land beneath him.

He loathed Portkey travel more than snakes and only a little less than Potter, father or son. The list of things he hated was long, granted, but it was variable depending on season and location, excepting the top three positions: Potters, Portkeys, and poisonous snakes. Some things were, by merit, eternal.

He attempted to wipe his mouth, and almost cut his lip with the edge of the seashell he still held. He dropped it to the ground next to the supply box and eyed the pattern of sick before him.

_Jackson Pollock, eat your heart out._ The wizard Snape was a maestro of artistic regurgitation.

Severus got to his feet cautiously, wanting to avoid upsetting his stomach again. He was also keen to evade touching the disgusting-looking moss. He could feel it, wet and clinging to the hem of his dingy grey nightshirt. _Idiots._ They hadn't even let him change into proper clothes. At least he had slippers on his feet from a timely visit to the loo. He stared at the supply box. It appeared to be locked tighter than a Gringotts vault.

_Brilliant. _

Potter's crack support team was performing as expected. He feared it was too much to hope that the _blasted box_ contained a change of clothing, let alone food or water. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Severus looked up and realised he had over-estimated Potter's logistical skills.

He was standing on a low atoll, composed entirely of moss-covered rock, perhaps nine hundred metres across at its widest point. It was, for the most part, long and narrow. And completely bereft of shelter, fresh water, or edible vegetation. He stared out at the placid sea with bemused resignation. Well, he was fucked now. He nearly laughed out loud. And that made his life different how?

The shell. He could use it to pry the box open. Surely, Potter or Zabini had packed his wand. He would reactivate the Portkey—as much as he hated them, he was beginning to loathe the slimy moss more—and encode it to transport him to New Zealand. He would live out his remaining days in drunken obscurity.

As if summoned, the shell floated up to hover before his face, and morphed into a scroll of parchment. It unrolled itself and script appeared on its surface.

**Turn around. **

Severus curled his lip in disdain, but did so.

_Oh. _

The medical coma had clearly dulled his normally sharp sense of surroundings, because he had to windmill his arms backwards to keep his footing. He was standing on the western edge of the atoll, facing the sheer cliff wall of a much larger island.

He shaded his eyes against the sun and tilted his head up. The cliff wall was immense. He closed his eyes for a moment and calculated the dimensions in his head. _Perhaps four hundred metres high and at least a kilometre wide._ He heard a rustling and opened his eyes.

The parchment was before him again, this time displaying a map of the island. He studied it with keen focus, noting the location of a hut, the lagoon and stream. There was also a coral barrier reef, which seemed to form a natural cove at the southern inward curve of the island. A section of the map glowed faintly red in the ghostly outline of a... cave, where Voldemort's last Horcrux was located. Severus traced the tunnel to the entrance with his forefinger and then gently nudged the map aside to scan the surface of the cliff wall.

_Ah. _

There it was, about two hundred metres up. The opening was barely detectable, recessed under a narrow overhang and just large enough for a full grown man to slip into sideways.

_I could destroy it now and then bugger off to New Zealand._

The parchment flapped back in front of his face.

**No. The wards would kill you.**

Severus rolled his eyes. Did Potter think him a nincompoop? Or worse yet, a Gryffindor? He was well-acquainted with the workings of the Dark Lord's devious mind. Given enough time, he would devise a plan to dispose of the soul fragment and wash his hands of this absurd affair.

In the meantime, how was he meant to get _to_ the blasted island? Flying would expend too much magical energy and set off the "nasty" wards, assuming he had a wand. He had never learned to swim properly, and he was reluctant to try out his doggie paddle against an unknown current pattern.

The parchment rustled to attract his attention. It displayed the map again. As he watched, a small rowing boat appeared at the northern tip of the atoll, about twenty metres from where he stood, and floated on the current down along the cliff face into the cove, coming to a rest at a wooden dock sheltered by a grove of palm trees.

_Ah ha._

The parchment rolled itself up again with a neat snap and tucked itself into the breast pocket of his nightshirt, next to his wand.

_Wand?_

Had it been there all along? He withdrew it from the long, narrow pocket and blushed. Clearing his throat, he picked up the supply box and shuffled cautiously over the slippery rocks to the spot where the rowing boat was hidden. He set the box down again, reaching out with both wand and hand to grasp the invisible rope he felt with his magic.

As soon as his wand touched the scratchy coil of hemp, the small rowing boat bobbed to the surface of the water and steadied itself against the rocky beach of the atoll. He put the box in the boat, and then clambered onboard inelegantly, his slippers affording no purchase on the wet rocks. The oars slipped into the water with barely a ripple, and a few minutes later, the boat docked itself at the island.

**~Code Names~**

Severus pocketed his wand, hefting the box under his arm to disembark. He checked the boat's moorings, making sure they were secure, and left the dock for the shelter of the lush palms swaying overhead in the tropical breeze. He removed the scroll from his pocket and unrolled it, noting a narrow pathway just north of the dock leading to the lagoon and then beyond it past some palms to the hut. Which was undoubtedly uphill and probably both steep and rocky.

He needed proper shoes, at the very least. He set the supply box down on the dock and tapped the lid with his wand, muttering "_Alohomora_," almost under his breath, reluctant to disturb the tranquillity around him. The box opened with a tiny pop, and Severus exhaled in relief. He selected a promising-looking minuscule trunk and placed it on the dock, a ways apart from the supply box.

"_Engorgio_."

The trunk resized itself obediently, and Severus opened it to find a plethora of brightly coloured long-sleeved shirts in tropical patterns, light-weight cotton trousers in khaki and white, Bermuda shorts, flip-flops—he curled his lip at all of it, but reserved his deepest disdain for the flip-flops—thick cotton socks, white y-front underpants and a pair of rugged, deep brown hiking boots. He tugged on a pair of khaki trousers, the thick cotton socks and was lacing up the boots when he heard a throat clear itself in the vicinity of the supply box. Withdrawing his wand, he crouched into a battle stance.

"Show yourself," he hissed.

"Radio is one of the principle means of communication within all units of the army. It is used between rapidly moving units where wire communication is difficult—," a tinny voice droned, ignoring Severus completely.

Keeping his wand at the ready, he approached the supply box with constant vigilance.

"It is subject to interception, location and jamming by the enemy and is affected by terrain and weather conditions—," the radio manual continued in a Texas twang. It lay full-sized at the top of the supply box, a bottle of Ogden's Old Special Reserve nestled at its side.

"_Silencio_," Severus said. He picked up the bottle and opened it, taking a healthy swig.

"In order that radio communications may follow the proper channels of tactical command, the radio station of the superior unit and the radio stations of its next subordinate units are grouped, by being on the same frequency, for operations with one another. This group is called a net. The composition of each net depends—"

"_Muffliato_!" He took another drink.

"Correct radio procedure under any operating condition is characterized by brevity, uniformity, and simplicity. When special operating conditions require procedures not illustrated in detail in this Manual, the briefest common-sense application of the principals and signals contained herein will be—"

"Shut. The fuck. Up."

"Every radio net is assigned a frequency on which it must operate, and every station is assigned a call sign by which it is identified. Stations within the same headquarters should be assigned different call signs. A call sign, termed the—"

Severus raised his wand menacingly. "I shall set you on fire."

The manual paused its lecture, flapping its cover closed so that Severus could read it_._

**U.S Radio Manual**

**Army standard issue 1945**

**Waterproof - Fireproof**

Then it flapped open and continued where it left off. "Termed the 'net call,' is also assigned to designate the entire net. Call signs are composed of three or four characters. Call words, often used to identify a radiotelephone station, consist of a word, or a word and a sign, such as—"

Severus took a last long drink from the bottle, set it gently in the supply box and shut the lid on the yapping monograph. It finally got the message and ceased speaking. If only Miss Brown had been as easy to dissuade. Unfortunately, both Dumbledore and McGonagall had frowned on locking endlessly prattling students up in boxes.

His life would have been infinitely more pleasant had such a course of action been allowed.

_Que Sera, Sera. _

Now feeling a bit squiffy, Severus reduced the trunk, pocketed his wand, stacked the trunk on the supply box and tucked them both under his arm, before striding haphazardly up the path past the lagoon.

He was right about the trail to the hut. It was steep. And rocky. The waterfall was pretty, though. And the falling water had a soporific effect that boded well for his future sleep pattern. But first, he had to get up this Brobdingnagian hill. He made a pouch of his nightshirt, looping the hem through a high section between two buttons, to cradle the trunk and supply box in its confines. Then he crouched over, using his free hands to grasp at the low vegetation for balance as he scaled the incline.

A long while later, Severus stood, sweaty and panting, before a slightly derelict Quonset hut painted in tropical greens and covered in leafy netting. He wanted nothing more than a slap-up meal and a dozen pints of tea. Even his toes were hungry after that arduous climb.

He found a large rock, opened the supply box, took out the Radio Manual and set it down on the wooden deck the Quonset hut sat on. Quickly, before it could start talking again, Severus plunked the heavy rock down on it.

"There, Brown," he said, feeling slightly foolish, but regarding the wriggling Manual with smug satisfaction nonetheless, "enjoy your new home."

He then rummaged through the supply box, locating a crate of Operational Ration Packs and a Tommy cooker in short order. He resized the crate and fired up the cooker, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burning Hexamine. He was ecstatic to discover the tins of soup and beans, the water purification tablets, the neat little envelopes of tea and Brown biscuits. But he nearly wept tears of joy at seeing the precious packet of Marmite tumble out of the meal box. Clutching it to his chest, he swept a metal bucket off the shelf near the door of the hut and practically skipped to the stream to retrieve some water.

Several hours later, after a grand meal and a long kip, Severus was rudely roused by a crackling noise emanating from the pedal radio situated near his bunk. He stumbled over to it, and blearily rubbed his eyes before locating the communication switch.

"What do you want?" he barked.

There was no response, though the crackling was fainter.

He sat down and tried pedalling for a bit.

"Babbity Rabbity, Babbity Rabbity. Are you there? This is Hopping Pot. At the Stump. Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Babbity Rabbity, Third Brother here. We can hear crackling, but not you. Depress the talk button."

Severus frowned at the machine. He picked up the microphone and pushed the talk button.

His response was a tad more acerbic the second time around. "Yes. I am here."

He hated repeating himself. It held position eighteen on his list in the autumn, position seven in the spring and position fifty-three during the summer hols.

"We've been trying to reach you, on and off, for the last twelve hours, Babbity. Did you have trouble finding the hut? Over."

"No."

"Did you read the Manual, Babbity? Over."

Severus jabbed at the talk button. "Don't you mean _listen_, Potter?"

"Er, yes. Well, it worked then. Good. And please use the code names, sir."

"You can take your code names, Potter, and shove them where the sun doesn't shine."

"Thank you, sir. I'll keep that in mind."

"Don't you mean Babbity, Potter? Over."

Harry grinned and set down his headset.

Colin looked up at him with wide eyes. "He sounded cranky."

Harry's grin grew wider. "Just like old times, bless him."

**~Hobbled Boat~**

It took Severus a day or two to situate the hut to his liking—there was extensive testing of the four beds available, after which his first choice nearest the radio was proclaimed just right—but following that, his hours blurred together in a comfortable routine of eat, sleep, read, drink, harass Stump. Rinse, repeat. He didn't bother marking the days as they passed. The weather was mostly pleasant, whether it rained are not, and as long as the trade winds blew, the humidity didn't bother him much. When he was content, he would read his books and contemplate the meaning of the wards in the Horcrux Cave. When he was restless, he'd tramp around the island, collecting edible plants to supplement the Rat Packs' lack of nutritious greens. When he was overtired, he'd let Brown talk him to sleep and dream of pixies who lectured him on proper radio protocol. When he was feeling cranky, he'd radio Third Brother and quiz him on the state of the wizarding world. When night fell and he was drunk, he'd radio Hopping Pot and reminisce.

"Hopping Pot."

"Yes, Babbity?"

"Were you a boy scout?"

"Yes, I was, sir."

"I thought so."

"Sir?"

"Hurmph." This sound passed for 'You have a question?' in Severus's sozzled state.

"Why do you ask?"

"Merely curiosity."

"Oh."

"Were you a wolf cub, Creevey?"

"Just a cub, sir."

"I wanted to be wolf club."

"You did, sir?" Colin was sure he'd heard that wrong.

"Yes. My Da wanted a normal lad."

"Oh." Maybe he wouldn't tell Longbottom _everything_ he'd heard later.

"And normal boys were wolf cubs. But Mum never had the dosh for subs."

Colin didn't know what to say to that.

"So. I would follow them around, like. And learn things. Like how to build a fire or shelter. How to bind a twisted ankle. Games. Songs. I was good at spying."

"You were, sir? Even then?"

Severus snorted. "I am Slytherin, boy. No one saw me unless I wanted them to."

There was a long silence as Severus took a drink of firewhisky.

"Indicate the way to my habitual abode, I'm fatigued and I want to retire." Colin's singing voice sounded thin and wavering through the radio static. It was sweet, nonetheless. "Oh, I had a little liquid sixty minutes ago, and it went right to my cerebellum."

Severus recognised the tune and felt obliged to join in. His deep baritone bolstered Colin's voice and the wavering disappeared.

"Wherever I may perambulate, on land or sea or atmospheric bubbles. You will always hear me humming this melody: Indicate the way to my habitual abode."

Colin's voice trailed off last, as if he were reluctant to end the magic.

Severus never remembered these whisky-soaked interludes. Or didn't allow himself to. There were several dozen of them that Hopping Pot kept under his lid.

Eat, sleep, read, drink, harass Stump. Rinse. Repeat.

Until one day, Severus noted his food supplies were running low.

"Babbity Rabbity calling Stump. Hopping Pot, are you there?"

"Yes, Babbity. How are things out there?"

"Fine, fine. I am running low on food, however."

"Fecking hell! I nearly forgot it's been four months!"

"Will more food being coming, then?"

"Yes, sir. We'll Portkey supplies straight away, sir. You'll need to retrieve it from the atoll tonight, sir. A storm is headed your way."

"Storm?"

"Tropical cyclone Cilla, sir. And she's a doozy. A level four, we heard. It's January, sir. The height of cyclone season."

"It's January, Creevey?"

"Yes, sir."

"What date?"

"The tenth, sir."

"Ah, well," Severus murmured to himself, "Happy birthday to me."

"Come again, sir?"

"Never mind, Creevey. Just get me that food."

"Yes, sir. We're sending it now."

Severus eyed the long line of empty bottles on the shelf above the radio. "And, Creevey?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't forget the whisky."

"No, sir. We won't."

Cilla hit the island two days later with the ferocity of a scorned, premenstrual, chocolate-less female.

The Quonset hut rattled and shook under the buffeting winds as Severus huddled under the blankets on his bunk, attempting to sleep. After the fifth time the branches of a palm slapped against the metal roof with a bang, Severus tossed the blankets aside, muttering, "Sod this for a lark." He decided to drink instead. Two bottles of whisky later, he fell asleep mid-sip despite the racket overhead…

Severus flexed the slits on either side of his throat in concert with his webbed feet and propelled himself across the crystal clear water of the cove towards the coral reef with a silky whoosh. Eddies of water billowed in his wake as he glided through the sunlit shallows.

A hypnotic silvery voice lilted out a giggle as he caught a glimpse of glittery green scales and long flame-like hair just ahead. He kicked out again and his reaching fingers brushed against a diaphanous fin. He chuckled with predatory fervour as the fin jumped slightly and then shivered in delight. He swooped suddenly and caught his Piscean nymph by the waist and murmured, "Tag, you're it," in her perfect shell-like ear.

But she wasn't laughing anymore. She turned to face him, concern filling her bright green eyes and said, "Babbity Rabbity, do you read? Babbity Rabbity, are you there?" in Hopping Pot's panicked voice, which confused Severus, because Lily had never sounded particularly boyish.

Also, _her_ voice had never caused his head to pound like a giant pounding a hugely-sized thing with another hugely-sized thing.

Severus had the microphone in his hand and the talk button depressed before he realised he'd got out of bed. He tried to speak. It was no good. His tongue had grown fur. He growled into the mic and dropped it in favour of lighting the Tommy cooker to heat water for blessed tea or coffee, whichever was closer to hand.

_Ah, the smell of Hexamine in the… Morning? Afternoon? It hardly mattered. Coffee mattered. Much, much more than time._

The water boiled, and he poured it into the mug over the tiny crystals of caffeinated relief. He blew on the hot, dark liquid and then swallowed a mouthful. It slid down his throat in a wonderful trickle of hydration that caused him to expel an enraptured moan. He tipped a dram of whisky into the mug and drank deeply.

"Severus, are you there?" Potter squawked.

"Yes, I survived the storm."

"You sound rough."

"You'd sound rough too, after thirty kilometre winds and two bottles of firewhisky."

"Oooooooo, were you a big girl's blouse, Snape?"

"Shut your gob, Potter."

"All right, I'll leave off, then. Assess the damage and radio us back, yeah?"

Severus didn't bother replying.

Fortunately, Cilla had stormed over the island quickly, and the Quonset hut withstood her fury well, only losing the camouflage netting and a few boards off the deck. After Severus repaired the deck, he scouted the rest of the island, looking for damage.

There wasn't much. Apparently, Cilla was all bark and no bite. She felled a palm tree in the lagoon, and uprooted a fair amount of grasses and shrubs, eroding a great deal of soil on the flat cliffs above the Horcrux Cave. So much so, in fact, that Severus was able to dig a hole into the cavern near the base of a shrub with yellow and red flowers that smelled like star jasmine. Luckily, it was the only one of its kind on the island.

He tossed a pebble into the hole and watched it bounce off the wards a few metres below the cave's ceiling. They sparkled in hues of violet, midnight blue, and forest green. He'd never seen that particular combination before. He would have to consult with Potter and perhaps a book or two before attempting a closer inspection. Ah, well. At least he had created an escape hatch of sorts. It was sure to come in handy at some point.

Severus stood up, dusting his knees off and then his hands. He ambled over to the cliff's edge overlooking the dock and the cove beyond it to see how the rowing boat had fared.

_Well, wasn't that something? _

Cilla had bite after all, or rather, she had taken one out of a Bulgarian ship. It was caught up on the lowest point of the coral reef, a ragged hole the size of a troll's massive club in the larboard side near the bow, just above the waterline. There didn't appear to be any survivors.

He made his way, nimble as a mountain goat, down the trail and approached the Bulgarian ship, wand in hand.

"_Homenum revelio_," he whispered.

Nothing. He waded through the shallow water to the side of the ship. Climbing through the club-sized hole, he rummaged the ship for supplies. There wasn't much he could use. A scratched mirror, an old-fashioned strap razor, some water-logged spell books, and a specimen jar that contained two sea horses. He gathered all of it up and took it back to the hut. He named one sea horse Romaine, because it looked like a branch of leaves. He named the other Dandelion. It resembled an overgrown weed.

When he tried to radio Stump that night, he couldn't get through.

The radio was out for several days.

He assumed it was due to the storm.


	2. Part Two

**Babbity Git, Part Two**

**~Enemy Sighting~**

Severus was bored.

He hadn't realised how much he relied on daily communication with Stump. He held fanciful conversations with the sea horses. He drank quite a bit more than he normally did. Which was a lot.

He got creative with coconut shells. He carved some into animal shapes. He constructed a tea set for eight, complete with saucers, cups, and a teapot—even a sugar bowl. He drilled holes through others, and played Conkers with a strong-looking palm tree. He nearly always won. He used the hole bits to make marbles, polishing the coconut hair off with care. He carved faces into a few, and named them all. His favourite was Milky Joe. Joe would listen to him as he expounded on ways to dispose of a Horcrux and offer suggestions on how to dissemble the wards in the cave. Milky Joe reminded him of Percy Weasley, so earnest and helpful. He wondered if Percy had survived the Final Battle.

He dreamt of Lily often, always as a mermaid, always out of reach. Sometimes the sea horses helped search for her. Sometimes Milky Joe joined in the chase. Several times, they all played games of Foxy between the boat and the coral reef. Severus was always 'it'.

It was during one of these dreams that the radio crackled to life. Which was how Colin became 'it' before Severus fully woke up. He was chasing Romaine to the ship hull as Severus opened his eyes.

"Babbity Rabbity. Babbity Rabbity, are you there? Over."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Wee Willykins, sir."

"And whom, precisely, is that?"

"Seamus Finnigan, sir."

"What happened to Hopping Pot?"

"They got him, sir. His whole family—mother, father, his brother Dennis and two sisters—they were all home for his mother's birthday."

Severus tossed down the mic and opened a bottle of whisky.

"They've been targeting Muggle-borns lately, more than before. We reckon they're frustrated. They've been searching in Eastern Europe and haven't found anything."

"That would be a logical place to search. Tell your team that the cyclone left a gift behind. There is a Bulgarian ship on the coral reef in the cove. There was no one aboard. The ship is damaged, but it can be repaired. I will require wood and nails in the next Portkey shipment."

"Babbity, Sabre here. Do you think the ship and the eastern European search are connected?"

"I suppose it is possible. I found nothing on the ship to indicate that, though. Still, it's something I hadn't thought of. I will check the ship again."

"You do that. We'll send the wood and nails with the next rations delivery."

"Colin was a good man." Severus raised his bottle to the sky and took a long swallow.

"We know."

Eat, sleep, read, drink, harass Stump. Rinse. Repeat.

He investigated the ship more thoroughly, but didn't find anything that connected it with the Death Eaters. As a precaution, he cast a spell to obscure the ship from detection overhead. Luckily, the reef lay outside of the island's wards, because it was a strong act of magic. A new rations shipment arrived, and with it came wood, nails—even tools and books on shipbuilding.

Eat, sleep, read, drink, harass Stump. Work on ship. Rinse. Repeat.

It gave him something to do while his mind was busily assembling and rejecting plans to deal with the Horcrux Cave. He had consulted with Potter regarding the wards, to no avail. Which was hardly surprising. He had consulted his books, to no avail. Which he found disturbing, because books had rarely let him down before.

And yet something niggled at the back of his brain, like a Niffler looking for Knuts. He hadn't seen that combination of hues before in the Dark Lord's presence, but he had seen something like it, somewhere. He hoped it wasn't in one of the memories he tried to give to Potter. Most of them had been restored, but there were still small gaps. He assumed that a few of them had escaped collection. A loss was to be expected, given that they were transferred under arduous circumstances. After all, he had never really expected to get them back.

He spent the morning bailing water out of the Bulgarian ship through the hole in its larboard side. The sea was calm, and he expected it to remain so for a while, now that the cyclone season was over. Bailing water was sweaty work and he was more than ready to take a break when his stomach rumbled around noon.

Severus jumped ship, and sat on the dock to enjoy his meal in the relatively cooler breeze found there. He took a bite of Lancashire Hotpot and frowned at the tin of dessert. It was probably treacle pudding again. It was nearly always treacle pudding. He despised treacle pudding—position five on his list of hated items—because it reminded him of Potter.

He held his breath as he opened the tin, and let a sigh of relief escape his lips. Fruit dumplings and custard, his favourite.

_It must be his lucky day. _

He was just digging his spoon into the mélange of doughy bits covered in odd-coloured sauce—custard typically was not pink—when he felt the wards over the island hum faintly. He glanced up and dropped his dessert face down into the sand below the dock.

A pair of men in black robes flew high overhead on brooms, in a circular pattern. One of them pointed to the atoll. Severus held his breath as they swooped lower. The Lestrange brothers. The hum of the wards increased and Severus began to feel painfully dizzy. The brothers flew closer to the atoll, hovering above it for a few moments, before flying off to the west. They hadn't noticed the ship sitting on the reef.

The wards ceased humming, and Severus took several deep breaths before he made his way cautiously up the hill to the Quonset hut. He grabbed a bottle of firewhisky and collapsed onto his bunk. He drank half the bottle before he felt ready to radio Stump. Potter had been right, the wards were truly nasty. He knew it would be so; he just hated having to admit it.

Having to admit things he didn't want to acknowledge was position eight on his list. Most of the time.

"Babbity Rabbity calling Stump. Wee Willykins, are you there?"

"Yes, Babbity Rabbity. This is Wee Willykins. Go ahead."

"I need to speak to Third Brother."

"Sorry, Babbity. I'm the only one here at the moment."

"Shite."

"Sir?"

"I had a close call just now. The Lestrange brothers paid the island a visit."

"They landed?"

"Thankfully, no. But they did seem very interested in the atoll."

Seamus's exhalation whistled sharply through the speaker. "Shite."

"Precisely."

"I need a drink."

"Don't mind if I do."

"I propose a toast." There was a pause as both men poured liquor into a mug.

"Yes?" Severus prompted when the seconds stretched out between him and relief.

"May this crap day end soon."

"Amen." Severus drank his whisky in one swallow.

"I propose another toast." There was another pause as both men poured more liquor into their mugs. "To all the girls I've loved before."

"Loved very many, have you?"

"More than the fingers on one hand."

"_With_ the fingers on one hand, more like."

"Shut it, you wanker." There was a moment of silence in which Seamus remembered exactly who he was speaking to. "Sir."

"I propose a toast."

"Sir?"

"To all the girls you've loved before." They drank. "In your imagination, with the fingers on one hand. You wanker."

"Git."

"That's Babbity Git, to you."

"Yes, sir."

"Drink up, Willykins. It's going to be a long night."

Several hours later, it occurred to Severus to propose another toast.

"To Hopping Pot. A good man."

"To Colin," replied Seamus. "A good wizard and a great friend."

"To Mr Creevey," added Severus. "A good singer, of middling talent and excellent taste."

"Colin sang?"

"Yes." A deep melancholy struck Severus unexpectedly. "This was his favourite song…

_Show me the way to go home, _

_I'm tired and I want to go to bed.  
Oh, I had a little drink about an hour ago, _

_and it went right to my head. _

_Wherever I may roam, _

_on land or sea or foam.  
You will always hear me singing this song: _

_Show me the way to go home_."

He began to sing the song again, and Seamus joined in.

"_Show me the way to go home, _

_I'm tired and I want to go to bed.  
Oh, I had a little drink about an hour ago, _

_and it went right to my head. _

_Wherever I may roam, _

_on land or sea or foam.  
You will always hear me singing this song: _

_Show me the way to go home._"

**~Little Girls~**

Severus was drinking his second cup of coffee with firewhisky the next morning when the wards screamed, tearing a jagged path of pain through his frontal lobe. He dropped his metal mug and clutched at his head, resisting the urge to curl into a mewling ball on his bunk.

The wards suddenly stopped caterwauling what seemed a lifetime later, but was more probably a few seconds. He stood shakily, and made his way to the scratched mirror over the dry sink in the hut's kitchen area. He wasn't bleeding out his eyeballs, then. That was a good thing.

Severus's keen intellect came out of hiding.

_The wards._

He stared into the mirror and realised he looked like himself.

_This was not good._

He wasn't ready for this. Lulled into complacency by the sun, sea and good food, Severus had misplaced some of the edge he had honed during the long years between the wars. He took several deep breaths before panic could set in.

_Wand. Clothes. Glamour. Stealth mode._

It was coming back to him now. He took the parchment from the shelf beside his bunk and unrolled it.

"_Homenum revelio_," he whispered, touching his wand to the map's surface.

Five violet dots appeared on the flats above the Horcrux Cave.

_Shite._

Five. He peered at them, his mind racing. They weren't moving. He kept the map in one hand, and held his wand up in the other as he crept silently out of the hut, down the deck toward the stream that separated him from the tableland. He crossed the stream at a low point, barely getting the soles of his boots wet. Then he checked the map again. The dots remained where they were, unmoving. Severus dared to hope. With any luck, they would be dead already.

He stopped in the middle of the camouflaging shrubs about five metres from his unwanted guests, and shaded his eyes against the sun. He wanted to get a good read on them before he stuck his neck out any further.

"What?" he said, and was so startled he nearly jumped out of his skin.

His voice certainly sounded different. Like he gargled glass as a hobby. The reason for his altered voice captured his singular attention again. He took a few steps closer to the clearing without realising it.

The interlopers were shorter than he expected. They were not wearing black robes, either. They were wearing navy blue skirts, and knee socks and white short-sleeve broadcloth shirts. All of them. Except for one. Severus surveyed the sky for a moment, and then strode over quickly to the prostrate figures.

She was dressed in a prim little navy blue suit and sheer hose, her hair spilling out on the ground in a halo of wild curls. Her shoes, plain navy pumps with a short heel, rested near her out-flung hand—as if she were reaching to put them on.

Severus knelt next to her, and was relieved to discover a pulse and regular breathing. He checked the other girls, and found the same results. Just unconscious, then. He spied a manky old boot near the littlest female and surmised that the wards had caused their Portkey to malfunction.

_Seriously?_

He looked up at the sky, tracing a cloud's movement for a moment or two.

_It had to be her._

Of course it did. His life thus far had been a never-ending series of Karmic smack-downs. There was no reason to believe that Karma would not follow him here. To this tiny hunk of uninhabited volcanic rock in the middle of the South Pacific. No fucking reason at all. He wondered who he had been in his past life to end up on her most wanted list. Caligula? Ghengis Khan? Bonaparte? Stalin? Nero? Hitler?

Not that he hadn't done anything of particular note in his current life; but really, wasn't enough, enough? Karma didn't think so, apparently, for she had delivered unto Severus four young school girls and Miss Hermione Granger.

Inquisitive, intelligent Hermione Granger. She had a mind like a steel trap with almost perfect recall. She made Voldemort look like an inbred moron. Albeit, an inbred moron with a hair-trigger temper, questionable sanity and a thirst for power.

How the fuck was he going to do this?

He paced the wooden planks between the large table and the bunk row, occasionally glancing with apprehension at the last bunk, where Miss Granger lay, still unconscious. As they all were. A fact he was grateful for, as he needed time to think.

Once he had moved his unwanted guests one by one to the hut, situating them on the available beds—thank Merlin there was a double bunk for the bigger girls and the two smallest had fit on the other single side by side—he had radioed Stump with the headphones on, as quietly as possible.

They were no help at all, explaining that the previous day's sighting of the Lestrange brothers had put the team on high alert, and that a travel Portkey would not be forthcoming any time soon, no matter how much he begged. Sabre suggested a supply delivery via Portkey, under cover of night, to be dispatched when a list of needs had been compiled. On the assumption that if it were intercepted by their enemies at some point, no lives would be lost. And preferably consisting of more than just firewhisky; such as things the females might find useful. Severus reluctantly agreed.

Sabre promised a travel Portkey would be arranged as soon as it was viable to do so.

But then things went from uncomfortable to downright impossible, in Severus's opinion. Third Brother and Sabre ordered him to reveal as little as possible of his mission and identity to any of the girls, barring what they would need to know for their safety. Miss Granger, it seemed, had suffered a breakdown after the Final Battle, due to post-traumatic stress. It had taken her three years to fully recover, and another year to reunite with her parents and restore their memories.

_Clever girl._

After that, they had charged her with transporting war orphans to Australia, where her parents watched over them. With Andromeda Tonks's help. To keep her safely away from their more dangerous work. She had changed, Severus was warned. She was not the same girl he had known at Hogwarts. He was hard pressed not to snort at that. Of course she was changed. That didn't mean she was suddenly stupid or incompetent.

However, he did see the wisdom of breaking things to her gently. He did not believe that she was fragile, but a little caution wouldn't hurt. Besides, the longer he could evade harassment and endless questions by being a stranger who deserved company manners, the better. He had an enormous headache already, contemplating the travails of living with five females.

**~Taking Over the Hut~**

"Who are you? Where are the girls?"

Severus stopped pacing mid-step and turned to face Miss Granger.

"The girls are on the bunks next to you. They appear to be healthy, other than mild abrasions and such."

She sat up slowly, and looked over at the girls, then back at Severus. Every movement she made was careful, as if she didn't trust her body yet. "Where are we?"

"On a small island in the South Pacific." He sat on the chair by the pedal radio.

"Did our Portkey malfunction, Mr…" Miss Granger peered at him in puzzlement. "What did you say your name is?"

"I hadn't," replied Severus. "It's Zabini. Walter Zabini." He held out his hand for her to shake.

She did so daintily. "Do you know Blaise Zabini?" Severus—Walter—nodded. "You look a little like him."

He knew that, having glanced in the scratched mirror after placing the medal on his neck. Third Brother had informed him during their radio call that Blaise had constructed the glamour, since he excelled at them. He'd learned the craft at his mother's knee.

_Plus_, Severus thought, _his picture was next to the definition for narcissist in the dictionary_.

"He's my nephew."

"Ah," Miss Granger said, as she looked around, taking in her surroundings.

The Quonset hut was built from cedar with a reinforced aluminum roof. It measured a roomy five by twenty metres that housed, as far as Hermione could tell, three bunks, a long table and chairs, a pedal radio station, a small kitchen area with a dry sink, storage shelves and an enormous pile of rubbish that needed to be burned as soon as possible.

"That needs to be burned," she muttered, pointing at the offensive mass.

"We can't light a fire," said Severus.

"Why ever not?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Because it could be spotted. You can't do magic, either."

"Oh." Miss Granger worried her bottom lip. "Is there indoor plumbing?" she added hopefully.

He snorted. "No."

"What if?" she started delicately, only to have Mr Zabini interrupt her brusquely.

"There's a field of low shrubs out back and a bucket and shovel to help."

"Help?" asked Miss Granger.

"With burying." He pointed at the rubbish. "Bog roll, Miss…"

"Granger. Hermione Granger." She pointed to the girls, one a time. "That's Harriet on the top bunk, she's twelve and a tomboy. Annie is on the bottom bunk. She's fifteen, very girly and artistic. Elisabeth is ten. She can be very dour. And last is little Jenny. She's six. She hasn't spoken since her parents died."

"Murdered?"

"Yes," said Miss Granger. "By Death Eaters."

The girls began to stir. Miss Granger swung her legs over the edge of the bed, standing up carefully while straightening her skirt. She also did her best to smooth down her hair before walking between the girl's beds.

"Take it easy, girls," she said, soothing them with a calm voice. "We've just had a bumpy landing."

"Are we in Australia?" asked Elisabeth. She sat up, looking around. "This place is a dump."

"Elisabeth!" Miss Granger admonished. "Mind your manners."

"Who for?" Elisabeth muttered querulously.

"Our host, Mr. Zabini," Miss Granger replied. "That's who."

Severus shifted uncomfortably as four sets of young female eyes looked him over. "Good evening," he said.

"Good evening," they replied as one, except for Jenny, who merely waved at him.

"I need a drink," muttered Severus. He uncapped the half-empty bottle on the shelf next to the radio and poured a generous measure into his mug. Five sets of eyes watched his every move.

"Mr Zabini," began Miss Granger, clearing her throat. "Not in front of the children, please."

"I didn't want them here." Severus took a drink and smacked his lips.

"Mr Zabini!" Miss Granger's eyes fairly bulged from her head.

"We aren't in Australia, are we, Miss Granger?" asked Annie.

Miss Granger turned her attention to the girls. "No, we aren't, girls. Our Portkey malfunctioned. I think we should all have tea while we discuss this, don't you, Mr Zabini?"

"Go right ahead," Severus said with a smirk. "Be my guest."

"Do you have a tea set, Mr Zabini?"

"Where do you think you are, Miss Granger, the Palm Court?" Severus began, before halting abruptly. "Er, yes. I think I do. On the shelf over the dry sink."

"And how do I boil the water?"

Severus strode over to the kitchen area and lit several Hexamine stoves, before retrieving some Operational Rations Packs for the girls to open, since they were all now sitting at the table. He felt a bit grumpy sharing his things until he found out that all the girls loved treacle pudding and loathed Marmite. Excepting Elisabeth, who nearly snarled when he reached for her packet.

He drew back his fingers so quickly that all the girls giggled, including Miss Granger. Only Jenny made no noise.

When she recovered, Miss Granger cleared her throat. "How are we to get to Australia, Mr Zabini?"

"You could swim," he suggested. He popped a Marmite-covered Brown biscuit in his mouth and chewed.

"That is not funny," Miss Granger said, as Harriet and Annie dissolved into peals of laughter again. "Harriet, sit up straight, you are going to fall off the bench."

"My name is Harry." The girl's mouth adopted a mulish cast.

"Oh, yes," said Miss Granger. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm a bit distracted."

"That's all right," Harry said as Jenny pushed her treacle pudding over to her plate. She petted Jenny on the head and dug into her pudding.

"Seriously, Mr Zabini. Do you have a boat or perhaps—"

"There's a Bulgarian ship caught up on the reef. But it won't get you anywhere, seeing as there is a massive hole in its side." He took a drink of tea and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, which he then crumpled up and threw onto the rubbish pile. He ignored Miss Granger's gasp of outrage. "My contact said the team will have a travel Portkey ready for you in a couple of weeks. The area is too hot to send one just yet. For the time being, you should compile a list of necessaries, as they _are_ able to Portkey supplies. At least, we should hope they are."

"Where will you stay while we wait for our travel Portkey?"

"What do you mean, where will I stay? Right here, in the Quonset hut." Severus stood his ground at the head of the table.

"I'm afraid that is unacceptable," Miss Granger said, standing to face him. "There are young impressionable ladies present, and not enough beds to go around." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Where do you suggest I sleep, then?"

She tipped her head and thought for a moment. "You said there was a Bulgarian ship?"

"With an enormous hole in its side, practically at the water line!"

"Surely there is a dry room on one of its decks?"

"Yes," Severus muttered. "Surely." He turned to fill his supply chest with a few items. "I'll come back for the rest in the morning."

"Have a good night."

"There is one small matter you've disregarded."

Miss Granger tilted her head again. "And that is?"

"The radio. I'm the only one who can operate it."

"I'm sure we can work out something in the morning, Mr Zabini." She smiled widely at him. It was almost menacing. "Sleep tight."

He grabbed two bottles of whisky as he stomped out the back door. "I'm sure I will."

**~The Father Figure~**

The next day, Severus awoke early and spent most of the morning puttering around the boat, in an effort to make it somewhat habitable. It also kept her Highness waiting, as a much desired bonus.

When it got close to lunchtime, he reckoned he would put in an appearance. Firstly, because it would impose on her manners and she would be forced to feed him. Which served her right for kicking him out of _his_ hut. And secondly, he remembered they needed to submit a supply list to Stump as soon as possible. Those rat packs wouldn't last very long, with five additional mouths to feed.

Once he got to the hut, he stomped loudly on the deck to alert the females to his presence. Severus wasn't about to knock on his own bloody door, manners or not. Luckily, everyone was busily working on large piece of material he couldn't identify at the long table.

Miss Granger looked up from her section of cloth. "Oh, Mr Zabini. I didn't see you standing there. Did you knock?"

"It's my hut," he replied evenly.

She pursed her lips, but said nothing in return.

He leaned against the supply shelves and watched them work. "Do you have a supply list ready?"

"Yes, almost. I need to add an item or two after lunch," she said, putting several stitches in the cloth. "Would you like to make lunch for us, Mr Zabini, while we work? Or have you already eaten?"

His stomach rumbled before he had a chance to answer.

"Obviously not," Harry sing-songed. She didn't look up.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Where did you get that cloth?"

"From the rubbish pile," Miss Granger said. "And I borrowed the sewing kit from the shelves behind you. I hope you don't mind."

Now he recognized the cloth. It was an old silk parachute left by some prior occupant. They had washed it and were in the process of darning all the little holes in it.

"What are you going to do with it?"

Miss Granger looked up at him with a smile. "Hang it as a curtain between my bunk and the pedal radio. So that you can use it while the girls are sleeping or getting dressed."

She thought she was clever, didn't she? It wouldn't keep them from overhearing him, though. And that wouldn't do.

He looked over where the rubbish pile used to be. It had been reduced to a neat stack of boxes. He looked back at Miss Granger. She was worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she sewed.

"We also sorted the rest of the rubbish heap out, as you can see," she said after listening to the girls chatter for a while. "The bog paper, as you called it, has been put in a box next to the necessary pail."

He decided not to tell her the Bulgarian ship had several functioning heads.

"Mr Zabini, may I ask you a question?"

Well, at least she wasn't waving her arm around like the Whomping Willow. "Yes."

"Did you by chance find a small beaded bag near where we fell? I couldn't find it in the hut."

"Can't do without your lippy, eh?"

Miss Granger huffed in exasperated indignation.

"No, I did not." Severus started to make lunch.

"Or a cricket bat?" asked Harry.

"No."

Annie sighed mournfully. "I lost my perfume. It was expensive, too. Twenty quid a bottle."

Elisabeth rolled her eyes. Severus quite agreed with her assessment.

The girls cleared the table, placing the parachute on Miss Granger's bed, and they all sat down to eat. Except Severus, who remained standing, while he ate his beans directly from the tin.

"Mr Zabini, won't you join us?"

"I'm fine right here, thanks," he said. He tore open a packet of Brown biscuits with his teeth and used his bean spoon to spread Marmite on them.

Elisabeth did the same. Exactly the same.

Miss Granger stared at him with the intensity of a surgical laser beam. "Might I have a word, Mr Zabini? Outside?"

"Of course," said Severus. "Shall we go out the back?" He led the way.

"Girls, keep eating and when you're finished, practise your times tables," Miss Granger said over her shoulder, before shutting the back door closed with a snap.

She faced Severus and folded her arms across her chest. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

"What do you think I am doing?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, and held her ground.

He counted silently to sixty just to make her wait and then responded. "Eating lunch."

"You had better manners last night."

"That was before I was kicked out of _my_ hut."

"Did you build it, then?"

He shook his head no.

"I didn't think so."

"I was here first."

"Are you twelve?" Miss Granger retorted in disgust. "Didn't your mother bring you up to be a gentleman?"

He gave her a filthy look but didn't answer her. His family was not his favourite topic of discussion. In fact, it held position nine on his list of hate.

"The girls are watching you, heaven help them," Miss Granger said. "You are the closest thing they have to a father figure right now."

Severus snorted. "Good luck to them."

"No," Miss Granger said, stepping closer to him. "Good luck to you." She held up a finger for each edict. "No swearing. Sit down when you eat with us. Use dishware and the proper utensils. Knock and wait for permission before opening a door. And no drinking."

"In front of the girls."

"Period. It's bad for you. At the rate you're going, you'll have a pickled liver by fifty."

"You are not my mother. Or my wife. Or even my daughter, though you're nearly young enough—"

It was Miss Granger's turn to snort. "Nearly!"

Pity the glamour hadn't de-aged him. But the Zabinis had kept that little trick for themselves. _Bloody gannets_.

"In short, you are not the boss of me," Severus said. "In point of fact, I am the boss of you." He ignored her gasp of outrage. "You shouldn't be worrying whether I use a spoon to eat beans out of a tin at all, Lady Muck."

_Sod being gentle_.

"I spotted Death Eaters two days ago. They very well might come back. Don't do magic. Keep the girls calm so they don't either. Don't let them play in the open. If someone calls on the radio, fetch me straight away. Do you understand me?"

Miss Granger snapped her jaw shut and nodded her head in acknowledgement. She swallowed visibly and was very pale. He noticed her hands were shaking.

"Do you need some firewhisky? It's Special Reserve."

It was her turn to give him a filthy look.

"Pull yourself together, then. We need to radio that list of supplies in."

"I'm fine," she gritted out after taking several deep breaths.

They went back inside the hut. He even held the door open for her. The girls were working quietly on their times tables, though Severus suspected they had made a mad dash for the table as soon as the adults had approached the back door. None of them would look up to meet his eyes.

Miss Granger found her list, added some lines to it, and met him at the radio.

"Babbity Rabbity to Stump."

"Wee Willykins here." Seamus's voice sounded different. Smart lad.

"We have our supply list ready."

There were scrabbling noises at the other end. "Hang on a tic, I need to grab another quill. This one's tip is broken."

"Mr Zabini, there are a few… feminine requirements on the list," Miss Granger said, clearing her throat. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to read it out loud?"

Severus rolled his eyes at her. "Just hand it over, Miss Granger."

"Stump is ready, Babbity," said Seamus.

"Twenty pairs of knick—" Severus came to a halt as his eyes slid down the list. They shut in horror at the word "tampons." He gave Miss Granger the list and wordlessly showed her how to depress the talk button, before he grabbed a bottle of firewhisky and left the hut. Her laughter followed him out the door.

"Babbity, are you there?"

"Babbity has left the building," Hermione said into the mic, still laughing. "I'll read the list to you instead."

"All right, fair Maiden, start reading."

"Why did you call me that, Willykins?"

"Code names, miss. You never know who's listening."

**~Not Playing Nice~**

She got straight up his nose, even now, when she wasn't there to purse her lips at his slovenly ways, or huff in indignation at some outrageous comment he felt compelled to make whenever she tutted at him or stare straight through him, like she could see every lie he'd ever told. Possibly since birth.

Trying to tell him what to do. Father figure. _Bah_. He hadn't been comfortable as a role model when he'd been teaching. He wasn't going to ease into it now. No way.

With any luck, his little speech would keep them all out of his hair for their entire stay. He was sure it had made a lasting impression on Miss Granger. He thanked the stars above she was inclined to respect authority. For the most part, anyway. And since new supplies were on the way, he had packed his trunks to the brim, and brought them to the ship. He'd left the radio there for now, and most of the firewhisky, until he worked up the strength to move it.

Or the nerve to test a pet theory of his. That Voldemort had not considered witches and wizards to be equals. More fool him. The Dark Lord certainly had called his mother weak more than once in Severus's hearing. He had treated Bellatrix more like a toy or a pet than a powerful witch. Severus could count the number of female Death Eaters on one hand. Most of the women in that circle were merely wives of Death Eaters, and never bore his Mark. If he was right, and he was right most of the time, then Severus was sure he could still do small acts of magic without setting the wards off.

Although. The Portkey, with five females attached, had definitely set the wards off. Yet a Portkey was a strong piece of active magic. And probably man-made as well. The Ministry could not have changed that much in five years. Keep the witches busy with theoretical magic, leave the practical magic to the men. And the Ministry was backing Miss Granger's humanitarian missions, Hopping Pot had informed him, as a show of reparation after the Final Battle. It was just bad luck that had placed her trajectory directly over the island this time. Or maybe the Ministry had adjusted the usual route to avoid a storm of some sort. He'd have to check with Willykins.

"Mr Zabini!"

Merlin's frozen hairy testicles, did that woman _never_ listen?

He rolled off the spar deck hammock, and peered over the ship's rail.

Annie shaded her eyes, and waved him down. "Mr Zabini, the radio wants you!"

He shushed her with a finger to his mouth and then pointed to the dock. She ran to it and he nodded vigorously in approval, before throwing a rope ladder over the side and climbing down it. He joined her at the dock.

"Willykins called for you, sir. You need to call back," Annie whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, all right. Let's go."

"I need to stay at the lagoon, sir, and help the other girls with the laundry," she whispered.

"You don't need to whisper, girl. Just try not to scream or shout. Unless you need to."

"Yes, sir."

He left her at the lagoon with the other girls, who were using rocks to scrub their socks.

"I'll whistle when I come by again, yeah?"

"Thanks, sir," said Annie as she waved him off.

Miss Granger was sitting at the table when he entered the hut.

"Would you like some tea, Mr Zabini?"

"Yes, please." He sat at the table, across from her. "Nice curtain."

The mended parachute flapped gently in the breeze.

She poured tea into his mug, and placed a packet of Brown biscuits next to it. He fetched some Marmite, and offered a pouch to her. She waved it away with a smile.

"Annie said that Willykins called?"

She took a sip of tea and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "Yes. About an hour ago."

He stood up to walk over to the radio.

"Please sit down and finish your tea first."

He sat. Only because there was Marmite on the table. And she had asked nicely.

They drank and ate in silence, occasionally giving each other awkward smiles. Actually, Miss Granger smiled. Severus grimaced.

When he was finished, he helped her clear the table. "Well, better make that call now. I wonder what Willykins wants."

Miss Granger cleared her throat and said, "I know."

"You do?" He stopped walking, and turned to face her.

"Yes."

He stepped closer to her. "Well?"

"Well, what?" she asked, linking her hands behind her back.

He heaved a sigh of exasperation. "What did Willykins want?"

"Oh!" She rocked forward on her toes. "Yes. What did Willykins want? I wrote it down. Where did I put that note?"

They looked at the table. No note. They looked at her bunk. No note. The shelves. No note. The kitchen area. No note. The top of the radio. No note.

"Never mind," said Severus. "I'll just call Stump now."

"It won't do any good," said Miss Granger.

He ruthlessly suppressed the urge to throttle her. "Why not?"

"Because Willykins had an errand to run, and couldn't wait."

"So he gave you the message instead."

"Yes, and I wrote it down and I put it somewhere," said Miss Granger, putting a hand in her skirt pocket. "Oh! Here it is. Silly me, I had it all along."

Severus held out his hand and Miss Granger dropped the note into it. He attempted to read it. Gobbledegook was easier to translate.

"I can't read your handwriting."

"Sorry! It's in Gobbledegook. Here, I'll read it."

He handed it over to her.

"Babbity Rabbity, are you there?" she began.

"Skip to the message, please."

Her eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Skip the protocol?"

His right eye twitched in alarm. "Oh, for fu—dge's sake, did you take the rock off that book?" He glanced uneasily at the front door.

"Yes. But only because it seemed cruel," she said. "After a bit, I put it back on."

He nearly laughed. "Horrid, isn't it?"

"I found it interesting," she replied. "Elisabeth begged me to do it."

He couldn't help but grin.

"After she threatened to set it on fire."

He did laugh then. "Please read the message."

"Willykins said the supply Portkey is a no go. Luckless was injured and he can't make one right now. The others are out on assignment. He says we'll have to make do for at least three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Severus looked at the supply shelves. "We only have enough food for one week."

"Not to mention a distinct lack of clothing for the girls," added Miss Granger. "If only I could find my bag."

"You said it was small," Severus said. "How much could it hold?"

Miss Granger's eyes twinkled. "With expansion charms? Quite a lot. All the girls' suitcases. My set of reference materials. A two- month supply of tinned food for six people…" she trailed off at Severus's look of amazement.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"I like to be prepared."

"Speaking of which," he said, looking around. "Where is the whisky?"

She didn't answer, averting her eyes.

"Where is my firewhisky, Miss Granger?" It came out as a growl.

Her eyes whipped to his face in an instant and she narrowed them at him for a heart-stopping moment.

"Where you will never find it, Mr Zabini. You should have taken me seriously when I said no drinking."

He gave her a hard glare, and turned on his heel, striding from the hut almost silently. It was a good thing he wasn't wearing robes or his cover would have been blown. Or, more accurately, billowed.


	3. Part Three

**Babbity Git, Part Three**

**~Searching for Firewhisky~**

He stomped down the path past the lagoon in high dudgeon, forgetting to whistle. Not that it mattered, because the girls weren't there. They had probably finished their laundry and were off playing somewhere.

How dare she hide his firewhisky! Who did she think she was?

And that act she was putting on, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Who was she kidding? He saw what she did to Marietta Edgecombe her fifth year. Had tried everything in his power to _erase_ what she had done to Marietta Edgecombe in her fifth year. The woman was a menace. A certifiable evil genius. He was going to report her to the Ministry when this was all over. If they didn't watch her carefully, the wizarding world would have one heck of a Dark Lady on their hands.

He shuddered to think of it.

Annie slipped by him on the path. "Good afternoon, sir." She was several metres past him before he thought to respond.

"Good afternoon," he yelled without stopping.

"No yelling, sir," Harry said as she sidled by him, holding something behind her back. "Remember?"

"What are you hiding?" he asked. She ran after Annie before he could try to catch her.

He was almost to the dock when he nearly ran into Elisabeth.

"Watch where you're going, sir," she barked.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his mind still occupied by Dark Lady Granger. What would her anagram be? No L, D, or Y. Well, that was a relief.

As if missing letters would stop her. She'd just change her middle name to include them. Hermione Lindy Granger, perhaps.

"Wait a minute!" he shouted. "Those are _my_ shirts, dammit!"

Elisabeth had disappeared into thin air when he wasn't looking.

He walked faster now, passing the dock and rounding the bend towards the beach. Towards the ship. Jenny came around the bend from the opposite direction, running straight at him.

She had a coil of rope slung around her neck, and one of his laundry bags tossed over her shoulder. It was almost as big as she was. He put a hand to her shoulder and kept her upright as he stopped her easily.

"Those are my things, little girl," he said, shaking a finger in her face. "Give them back, now."

She bit his finger, stomped hard on his instep and ran off instead.

He fell down and cradled his foot with both hands. "Ow! That hurt!"

"No yelling!" shouted Harry. She sounded a long way off.

_Fucking hell._

The thieving little brats had absconded with nearly everything that wasn't nailed down on his boat. The only things they'd left behind were two full bottles of whisky and his books. He wondered if Granger hadn't thought to ask for them or if he had interrupted before they could finish the job. Even the food was gone. And most of his clothes. They had been very busy indeed while he'd been preoccupied with Miss Granger. Not preoccupied _with_ Miss Granger. Preoccupied _by_ Miss Granger.

He threw himself into the hammock on the spar deck, and stared up at the cloudless sky. Out-Slytherined by a Gryffindor. It was almost more than he could bear. What had happened to his nice quiet vacation? To lazing about, with nothing more than whisky and a Horcrux on his mind?

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he sat up so suddenly he nearly fell out of the hammock. The Lestranges were back. They circled the atoll, apparently looking for something.

_Merlin buggering a duck._

He slid down the rope ladder, and raced up the path to the hut, keeping an eye on the Lestranges the whole time. Only Harry was there, sitting at the table.

"Where is everyone?"

Something in his demeanour prompted an immediate answer. "At the stream, washing bedclothes."

"Stay here." He raced out the back door, not waiting for a reply.

Severus looked up at the sky, and his heart almost stopped. The Lestranges weren't there. He hurried to the stream and nearly ran into Miss Granger, who was crouched in the underbrush with the other girls. She held Jenny in her arms, rocking back and forth, while crooning to the frightened girl under her breath. Elisabeth and Annie watched silently, with faces pale and tense.

"You saw?" Severus whispered.

Miss Granger nodded her head.

He stood up and found a shallow place to cross the stream. "I'll be right back."

Miss Granger bit her lip, but nodded again.

He kept to the underbrush, making his way past the tableland to the cliff's edge that faced atoll. He risked looking over the cropping of rock and found that the Lestranges had landed on the atoll. They were pacing its length, reaching out with both wand and hand, clearly trying to summon the rowing boat. Which was tied up to the dock, where he had left it.

_Merlin buggering a bloody bastard of a duck._

The Lestranges had never been very observant. They hadn't seen the dock or the rowing boat the last time, he was certain. They wouldn't be bothering with the atoll now, if they had. All he could do was hope their famously short attention spans would kick in soon. Then they would leave. And hopefully report back that this was the wrong island. Maybe they would assume that Voldemort has cast wards here as a distraction from the Horcrux's true location. Not that he thought the Lestranges were capable of such complex thought. But he was sure whomever was in charge would be.

The two men lowered their arms and walked back to their brooms at the northern tip of the atoll. Severus held his breath until they disappeared into the horizon towards Australia, as they had before, and then he walked back Miss Granger and the girls.

The group trudged back to the hut in silence, Miss Granger carrying Jenny because the little girl wouldn't let go of her neck, where they found Harry pacing frantically.

"Tea?" asked Severus. He started making it without waiting for a reply.

Annie came over and opened rat packs for him while he heated the water. Elisabeth and Harry set the table. Miss Granger sat in a chair and cuddled Jenny close. The girl eventually stopped shivering and fell asleep. Severus scooped her off Miss Granger's lap and tucked her into bed.

When he returned to the table, Annie poured the tea. They all drank deeply.

"What are they looking for, do you think?" Miss Granger asked, keeping her voice low.

Severus grimaced. "I'm not sure."

"They're not looking for us, are they?" whispered Annie, eyes wide.

"No," said Severus and Miss Granger at the same time. She laid a comforting hand on Annie's arm.

"If they know we're missing," Hermione said, "They probably think we're dead."

"And any revealing spells they may have tried to cast," added Severus, "Wouldn't work through the wards on the island."

Miss Granger gave him a look that promised an interrogation later.

He was definitely looking forward to that.

He glanced around casually, trying to catch a glimpse of green bottle glass. He was going to need a lot more whisky.

**~Making Friends~**

Returning to his boat several hours later, with fresh bedclothes in his arms and a full belly, Severus collapsed into the spar deck hammock with a groan.

He'd forgotten to radio Stump about the sighting. Never mind, he would do it in the morning. He wasn't about to haul his biscuits up the hill again that night. Especially when the girls were most likely asleep by now and Miss Granger could badger him to her heart's content, without fear of being overheard by little ankle-biters.

He rolled out of the hammock, and headed below deck. As he turned a corner in the hall to his cabin, his shoulder bumped against the wall, and a panel popped open. Where he hadn't noticed a panel before.

It concealed a closet. An equipment closet, because it held a pedal radio almost identical to the one in the Quonset hut. Maybe the Bulgarian ship was connected to this fiasco somehow after all.

He continued on to his cabin, bumping the walls every few feet. Couldn't hurt to try. But there weren't any more hidden rooms along that hall. He dumped the bedclothes on his bunk, and returned to the equipment closet. Since he'd taken the captain's cabin, there was enough space for the radio in his room. He hefted it up and took it there.

After he made his bed, he twisted open a bottle of whisky and tuned the radio to the correct frequency.

"Babbity Rabbity calling Stump. Are you there, Willykins?"

"Yes, Babbity. Is this line secure?"

"I am calling you from the pedal radio I found on the Bulgarian ship."

Seamus whistled into the mic. "Shite. Why didn't you tell us about it sooner?"

"Willykins, use your lazy-arse brain for once."

"Because you didn't know about it until today?"

"Precisely. I found it in a concealed closet less than an hour ago."

"Ah."

"What? No, excellent job, Severus?"

"Excellent job, _Babbity_."

"Thank you, _Willykins_." Severus paused to take a swig of whisky. "How is Luckless doing?"

"Fine. Just laid up until his magic renews. Dolohov hit him in the back with a sapping curse in Diagon Alley."

"He was always rather fond of those." Severus took another drink from the bottle.

"Still is, unfortunately."

"The Lestranges came back for another visit today."

"Fuck me."

"No thank you."

"Did they spot any of you?"

"They were preoccupied with trying to find the rowing boat on the atoll."

"Uh-oh."

"That's what I thought." Severus paused to take a drink from his bottle. "Fortunately, the Lestranges have a short attention span and a shallow think tank. They gave up after a while and flew off."

"That doesn't mean they won't be back."

"I'm rather hoping they won't. They might just think, with any luck, that this island is a decoy. What I found interesting is that they know the wards are active and they didn't, or couldn't de-activate them from the atoll. Which means that Voldemort made it impossible to do so."

"That is interesting. I'll pass that along to Luckless and Third Brother."

"You do that."

"How is the fair Maiden?"

"She is." Severus paused to drink. "A right pain in the arse."

"How so?"

"She had the brats steal most of my things off the ship," Severus replied.

Seamus laughed. Severus frowned.

"And she has hid all of my whisky."

"She didn't," Seamus said. "No, wait. I'm remembering how she was at Hogwarts. Of course, she did."

Severus drank another swallow.

"You do drink a bit much, Babbity."

"Et tu, Willykins?" Severus asked. "A bit pot, kettle, don't you think?"

"True enough." Seamus cracked open his third beer. Or was it fourth? He leaned over to count empties in the rubbish bin. "Fifth."

"Fifth what?" asked Severus. He tossed his empty bottle out the open porthole and heard it splash in the cove.

"Fifth beer." Seamus adjusted himself. "That reminds me of a song."

"What does?"

"My beer," said Seamus. "Shall I sing it to you?"

"Be my guest."

"_As I went home on Monday night as drunk as drunk could be,_

_I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be._

_Well, I called me wife and I said to her: 'Will you kindly tell to me_

_Who owns that horse outside the door where my old horse should be?'_

_Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you cannot see_

_That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me_

_Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more,_

_But a saddle on a sow sure I never saw before._

_As I went home on Tuesday night as drunk as drunk could be,_

_I saw a coat behind the door where my old coat should be._

_Well, I called me wife and I said to her: 'Will you kindly tell to me_

_Who owns that coat behind the door where my old coat should be?'_

_Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you cannot see_

_That's a lovely blanket that me mother sent to me_

_Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more,_

_But buttons on a blanket sure I never saw before_—"

"And what does beer have to do with it?" Severus asked.

"It's called Seven Drunken Nights."

"Ah." Severus was still confused. He shrugged and opened the second bottle of whisky.

"You're interrupting," Seamus slurred.

Severus blinked at the radio. "Sorry."

Seamus started singing again, and by the fifth night, Severus joined in.

"_As I went home on Friday night as drunk as drunk could be,_

_I saw some boots beneath the bed where my old boots should be._

_Well, I called me wife and I said to her: 'Will you kindly tell to me_

_Who owns those boots beneath the bed where my old boots should be?'_

_Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you cannot see_

_That's a pair of Geranium pots that me mother sent to me_

_Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more,_

_But laces on a Geranium pot sure I never saw before._"

After two more rounds, they took a loo break. Severus peed out the porthole window.

"Willykins?"

"Yes, Babbity?"

"Was one of the girls you've loved before Granger?"

"No, sir," said Seamus. "She scares the shite out of me."

"Me too."

"She had Sabre hooked through the nose for a bit. During her wee collapse even. Barking orders at him from her hospital bed."

"Poor sod." Severus had felt pity for Weasley before, but never fond comradeship. It was an unsettling feeling. "She's getting suspicious about the island. I believe she's starting to wonder why there are wards on it."

"You, sir," said Seamus, "are buggered. Well and truly."

"Well and truly," echoed Severus. He stared morosely at the pedal radio. Seamus would know, wouldn't he?

"I'm tired."

"Me too." Severus laid his head down on his crossed arms. He closed his eyes and felt the boat rock him to sleep.

Severus flexed the slits on either side of his throat in concert with his webbed feet and propelled himself across the crystal clear water of the cove towards the coral reef with a silky whoosh. Eddies of water billowed in his wake as he glided through the sunlit shallows.

A hypnotic silvery voice lilted out a giggle as he caught a glimpse of glittery red scales and long mane-like hair just ahead. He kicked out again and his reaching fingers brushed against a diaphanous fin. He chuckled with predatory fervour as the fin jumped slightly and then shivered in delight. He swooped suddenly and caught his Piscean nymph by the waist and murmured, "Tag, you're it," in her perfect shell-like ear.

But she wasn't laughing anymore. She turned to face him, concern filling her bright brown eyes and said, "You shouldn't be drinking. It's bad for your liver."

Severus sat bolt upright in his bunk.

Even in his dreams, Miss Granger just _had_ to lecture him.

**~All-girl Crew~**

Severus stumbled to the galley and was making coffee before he was fully awake.

_Wait a tick. Coffee?_

He blinked at the mug of dark, fragrant liquid in his hand. The girls had taken all the food, hadn't they? He looked up at the open cupboard to his left. It had been empty the day before, he was certain of it. But now there were packets of coffee and tea, Brown biscuits and Marmite.

Someone was trying to butter him up, perhaps?

He hated toadies. They held the tenth position on his list. Position four in the spring, when his tolerance wore thin as exams drew near. He was convinced Dumbledore had known and that was why he had made him Head of Slytherin House. Sadistic, manipulating old geezer. At least with Voldemort, the _Crucio_ had only lasted until one pissed one's self or blacked out. Whichever came first.

Or. They were simply trying to thank him. Dumbledore always said he expected the worst of people.

Because he brought it out of them, he'd replied. "It's my special gift." He startled himself, saying it out loud.

Severus shook off the old memories and systematically searched the ship, tapping on every wall on every accessible deck. There was still some water in the hull, about knee high, that made it difficult to walk around down there. He found two hidden closets, in addition to the one that had concealed the pedal radio.

His new finds did not yield much. One was filled with nautical charts and the other was empty, save a few trinkets, the best of which was a police whistle. He tried it out, and nearly burst his ear drums in the process. It still worked, then.

He went topside and prepared to continue boat repairs. Adjusting the rope ladder, he climbed down until he was perpendicular to the hole and started sanding its ragged edges.

_The purse._

Given what Granger had told him, there would've been a multitude of sundries scattered across the island has its magic failed. But there weren't. So the tiny beaded bag was still intact, even having passed through Voldemort's wards. And the Portkey had failed. The common denominator was the strength and scope of magic involved in creating both objects. Both the Portkey and the purse required a certain depth of skill and intent.

The only difference, as far as he could see, was the sex of their respective creators. Which meant that, if his suppositions were correct, that Voldemort had indeed disregarded, nay, had utterly dismissed witches' power.

What. An. Utter. Knobhead.

Peter Pettigrew had been a complete toe rag, but even he had known to watch his step around a powerful witch. Had Bellatrix suspected the shallowness of her precious Lord's regard for her, there would not have been enough left of him to fit in a matchbox, split soul or not.

Severus snorted. And blinked when a small hand holding the neck of a whisky bottle appeared in front of his nose.

A full whisky bottle.

He reached for it. "Thank you."

Jenny shook her head, and yanked the bottle back.

"You want something for it?" he asked.

She grinned at him.

He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out the whistle.

She reached for it.

"Ah, ah, ah," he said, holding it out of her grasp. "We are going to play for it."

Jenny tipped her head to the side.

"Say three words and you win," explained Severus. "Repeat after me. Rhinoceros."

She cleared her throat. "Rhinoceros."

"Elephant."

"Elephant."

"Wrong."

Hey eyebrows shot up her forehead and her cheeks flooded with pink. "What? I was not!"

"Sorry, that was the word. Wrong." Severus slipped the whistle into his pocket.

Jenny hoisted the whisky bottle over her head and threatened to smash it against the edge of the hole.

"All right, all right," said Severus, handing over the whistle. "Be careful with that, you could have hurt yourself."

She set the bottle down carefully on the deck, and skipped off happy as a clam, cradling her new treasure to her chest.

And returned a half hour later, with Elisabeth in tow. Who had Milky Joe tucked underneath one arm.

"He missed you. Shall I set him next to your bottle?"

"Yes, thank you." Severus gave his coconut pal a fond wave.

The girls giggled.

"Can we help?" asked Elisabeth. "We're bored and sick of lessons."

"Yes," Severus replied. "Grab a bucket and start bailing."

A few minutes later, Harry showed up.

"Oh, I love boats! I used to go sailing with my dad and uncles in Poole Harbour every weekend in the spring. What can I do?"

Severus looked her over. "Do you know how to swab a deck?"

"Yes, sir!"

"There's a mop next to the hammock on the spar deck."

"Aye-aye, sir!" In moments, Harry was merrily mopping down the top deck.

An hour later, Annie arrived. "May I help, Mr Zabini?"

"Jenny and I need a hand," Elisabeth piped up, dumping another bucketful into the cove.

When Harry finished mopping the top deck, she joined the other girls below. They formed a brigade, and soon had a rhythm going that produced a fountain of water into the cove.

Then they stopped for lunch, handing an extra rat pack they'd brought to Severus.

"Where is Miss Granger?"

The girls shrugged.

"I think she's looking for food to supplement the packs," said Elisabeth.

"Or looking for her purse," added Annie.

They finished their meal, Severus quietly listening as the girls chattered about their lessons and their lives back home.

Then the girls supervised him as he painted a new name on the stern of the ship.

"Who is Dandelion?" asked Jenny.

Severus dipped his brush back into the paint can. "A seahorse I know."

After that, Harry showed all of them how to repair the rigging and tie proper sailing knots.

A couple hours later, they helped Severus sand the hole and sang the song he had taught them.

"_As I went home on Saturday night as drunk as drunk could be,_

_I saw a man running out the door just after ten past three._

_Well, I called me wife and I said to her: 'Will you kindly tell to me_

_Who was that man running out my door just after ten past three?'_

_Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, still you cannot see_

_That's the King of England that me mother sent to me_

_Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more,_

_But an Englishman lasting past three sure I never saw before_."

"Girls!" Miss Granger's voice rang out, full of shock. "It's time to for tea. Leave Mr Zabini alone, and go back to the hut."

The girls groaned as one, even Jenny, but did as they were told.

Miss Granger crossed her arms over her chest. "Mr Zabini, I will thank you not to teach the girls such questionable songs in the future."

"They were just having a bit of fun." He leaned against the ship's hull and stared down at her.

"Fun." Her lips pursed as if she were sucking a lemon.

"Yes. You're not familiar with the word? I'm sure I have a dictionary around here somewhere." He made a show of looking through the hole into the ship.

She huffed so strongly that her fringe fluttered in the breeze. "I do not require a dictionary, Mr Zabini."

"That's good." Severus sneered. "Because you have nearly everything else that was mine."

"Stop interfering with the girls, you git!" Miss Granger yelled, and stomped off towards the path to the hut.

**~Fishing Lesson~**

He had three days of blessed peace before Miss Granger showed up again, early one morning.

While he was busy fishing.

The girl had a knack for catching him at a disadvantage. She would have made an outstanding Slytherin, in spite of her less-than-perfect pedigree. Which, in Severus's hard-earned opinion, counted for little more than the parchment such folderol was printed on.

He ignored her in favor of catching the fish that had been eluding him thus far. With a triumphant cry, he scooped it up in both hands and threw it onto the rocky part of the beach, where it flopped helplessly, seeking water.

Severus crouched over again, and held his hands underwater in a basket shape, standing both motionless and silent. Another fish swam through his legs and over his hands, only to end up on the shore, suffering the same fate as his brethren.

Satisfied with his haul, Severus waded to shore, where Miss Granger was waiting for him.

"I'm sorry about the other day," she started to say. "It's just that I left the girls in the hut, doing their lessons, and when I came back, they were all gone. I'm afraid I panicked and took it out on you."

Severus waved her apology off. "I understand. Forget it ever happened."

"I can't do that," she replied. "I'm responsible for these girls until we reach Australia. I promised that I would look after them and that no harm would come to them."

"And none has," said Severus.

"You don't know what it's like, do you? Being in charge of young minds, helping to shape what they will be as adults? It's a sacred duty, Mr Zabini, and one mistake could jeopardise their entire future."

Severus snorted.

"Don't you snort at me, Mr Zabini. All you do is sit around, fishing, and drinking—"

"And working on the boat." He reminded her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I was getting to that! Working on your boat and teaching impressionable young girls bad manners and bad habits and the words to filthy songs! How hard could it be, to do what you do? I'm sure I could catch a fish in half the time you took!"

Severus swept a bow, and motioned with an elegantly turned hand toward the cove. "Be my guest."

Miss Granger pursed her lips and bent over, rolling her trouser—_his_ trouser—cuffs up above her knees. She shoved her—_his_—shirt sleeves up around her elbows and waded into the cove.

_Where had she managed to find a __**grey**__ shirt_?

And then it struck him. She'd cut off his nightshirt at the waist.

He dropped to the sand and sat cross-legged, propping an elbow on one to hold up his chin on that hand.

"I'm looking forward to this," he called out. "My mealtime entertainment has been scarce of late."

"Hush!" she hissed, copying his crouched position. "You'll scare off the fish!"

He chuckled.

She stood motionless and silent for a few minutes, and then brought up her arms in a flailing motion that splashed water into her face. She repeated this series of actions several times.

It never got old.

The tenth time, she flailed so hard that she over-balanced and ended up on her bottom in the water, thoroughly soaking her trousers and shirt.

"I like fish, but they don't like me," she said pathetically, as she stood up.

Severus stood up and waded out to her. "Here, let me teach you how."

He positioned himself behind her, and nudged her gently on the back, so that they crouched together. He took her hands in his and guided them into the correct shape under the water.

As they stood quietly, waiting for a fish to come along, Severus realised several things all at once.

That Miss Granger was a full-grown woman.

She smelled very nice, like jasmine with a hint of green tea underneath.

She had her hair up, exposing delicate ears and a supple neck.

He had always been a sucker for both.

He longed to caress that supple neck with his lips, and nuzzle her ears with his nose.

Her nipples were erect under his old nightshirt. His wet, and now completely see-through old nightshirt.

She was holding her breath and trying to lean back into him without moving.

Which was very bad. Because he was very hard. And young impressionable minds could show up at any moment, getting an eyeful they would never forget.

"Mr Zabini," she whispered breathily, making him impossibly harder. "Are we going to catch a fish?"

"Hmmmm?" he enquired absentmindedly, distracted by the demands being issued by his nether region.

"I said, are we going to catch—" She paused to breathe deeply, and his eyes greedily followed the movement of her chest. "A fish?"

Her exhalation bumped him out of his reverie. "No."

"No?" she asked, and tried to turn into him.

He backed away quickly. "No. Not today," he said, striking out for deeper and hopefully, colder water. "Not ever," he muttered to himself.

When he came back from his doggie paddle, she was gone.

Severus made himself scarce for a few days.

And had to avoid fishing, as well.

It seemed certain parts of his body had established very pleasurable associations with the pastime. Which Severus found embarrassing and rather inconvenient.

No to mention horrifying, if he happened to remember that Miss Granger was a former student.

He tried to remind himself of that fact every time he set eyes on the cove. Which was altogether far too often for his peace of mind.

He was afraid he might go insane.

Milky Joe was inclined to agree.

**~Snake Bite~**

"Mr Zabini! Mr Zabini!"

Severus stuck his head out of the hole he was measuring for wood. "Yes, Harry, what is it?"

He tried not cringe every time he said her name, especially as he had found out the day she swabbed the spar deck that she insisted everyone use it as a homage to Potter.

Or as she put it, "This way, I have the same name as my hero!"

"Come quick!" The girl was hopping from one foot to the other at double speed. "Miss Granger has been bit by a snake!"

He dropped the measuring tape and pencil he'd been holding and jumped through the hole in the hull, wading to the beach as quickly as possible.

"Where is she?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.

Harry grabbed his hand and started running, "At the hut!"

They made it there in record time, and Severus panted heavily while the girls all tried to speak at once, except for Jenny. She simply sat next to Miss Granger on her bunk, holding her hand and petting it.

Severus made a cutting motion with his hands and everyone quieted at once. He pointed at Miss Granger. "What happened?"

"I was picking berries off the bushes that hang over the lagoon with Elisabeth," Miss Granger began.

"And she fell off the tree trunk!" put in Elisabeth.

"Yes, I fell off. So my foot was in the water when something bit my ankle," Miss Granger said.

"It was a long, ugly snake! I saw it!" Elisabeth yelled, unable to contain herself. Severus frowned at her, and she put her head in her hands.

Annie put her arm around Elisabeth and stroked her hair.

"Then we came back here as quickly as possible," said Miss Granger, finishing the story.

He walked over to Miss Granger's bunk and looked at her ankle.

There were two small puncture wounds visible on her skin above the ankle, actually her mid-calf, as if a pair of fangs had sank in and then let go.

"Girls, I want you to go outside for a while." Severus broke apart an empty crate and put it with some crumpled paper in the dry sink. He set fire to it with matches from the rat packs. "Go!" He said again, when the girls didn't move.

"Listen to Mr Zabini, please," said Miss Granger. "I'll be all right."

"But I want to watch," whined Harry.

Miss Granger patted her on the backside. "Go on, Harry."

The girls left the hut.

"But stay close," Miss Granger called after them.

Severus stuck a hunting knife into the fire, sterilising it. Then he scrubbed his hands in the dish bucket. He brought the knife over to her bunk and put a hand on her leg to stabilise it.

She sucked in a breath that was part hiccough.

"Is it painful?" he asked.

Miss Granger swallowed hard at seeing the knife poised over her calf. "Your hand is wet."

"Now, this is going to hurt a little." He moved closer to see better and gripped her leg more firmly.

"You should enjoy that." She bit her lip and averted her eyes.

"Quiet," he growled, and drew a cut in an x motion across each puncture. "You can yell if you feel like it."

Her forehead wrinkled in pain and she closed her eyes. "I don't feel like it." She bit down on her fist.

"I'm all done," he said, setting the knife aside, and gripping her leg again.

She leaned up, hovering over him. "Do you really think it was poisonous?"

"No sense taking chances," he said, "Lie back, this isn't going to hurt." He put his mouth to the incisions, and sucked, periodically spitting out the blood into a trash bin by her bed.

"Mr Zabini, I want you to know that I appreciate what you are doing," she said.

He squeezed her leg so that her blood rushed to the surface of the wound. "Save it." He lowered his mouth once more, sucking at the wound again, and spitting out the blood.

Satisfied that he had expelled as much poison as possible, he opened the first aid kit, and bandaged her wound.

Then he stood up and went to the pedal radio, turning it on. He pressed the communication button. "Babbity Rabbity here, calling Stump. Are you there, Willykins?"

"Yes, Babbity. What is it?"

"Get Sabre, will you? There's been trouble here."

"Is this line secure, Babbity?"

"No. Now go get him."

There was a momentary pause and indistinct shuffling in the background.

"Sabre here, Babbity." Weasley sounded like he was talking with cotton balls in his cheeks. "What's going on?"

"You scouted this island, correct?"

"Yeah, I did."

"What kind of snakes have we got around here?"

"Is this question for educational purposes, Babbity?"

Severus sighed. "Not as such. Miss Granger ran into one today."

"Bugger!" Weasley breathed. "Is she all right?"

"She seems to be resting comfortably for now," said Severus. "Find out if they're poisonous and what we can do about if they are."

"On it," said Weasley. "Don't be hero and suck out the venom until we know what kind of snake it is."

Severus turned to face Miss Granger, and their eyes met in horror.

He scrambled for the drinking water, and gargled thoroughly.

A few minutes later, Sabre hailed them again.

"Babbity, I have Altheda with me. Plug in the phones, will you?"

"Hang on," Severus said, plugging them in. Miss Granger sat up, concern writ across her face. "Go ahead."

"It's not good news," said Sabre. "We've checked with tropical experts and according to them, there are three types of snakes indigenous to your area. All of them are extremely poisonous. I'm handing the mic over to Altheda."

Very conscious of Miss Granger's eyes upon him, Severus kept his body relaxed, and his face blank.

"Altheda here."

"I'm pretty sure I got all the poison out."

"It can't hurt you orally, Severus. But if the poison was introduced to the blood stream, there's nothing you can do. Even with magic."

"There must be some—"

"The poison affects the neurological systems. The end will come suddenly, preceded by a general numbing sensation and dizziness."

_How very déjà vu._

"I see." He refused to look her in the eye. He could feel the tension emanating from her.

"I recommend that you make her as comfortable as possible, including the liberal use of any strong analgesic sedative you might have."

"I'll look around."

"This is no time to hoard the good stuff," said Zabini.

"Tell that to Miss Granger," muttered Severus.

"What was that?"

Severus grimaced at the mic. "Nothing."

"Call us when it's over, Babbity. Good-bye."


End file.
